


Medical Inaccuracy

by RebelBelly



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 1930's AU, Doctor Clarke, F/M, Janitor Bellamy, My OC - Freeform, there will be other characters later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-04 07:05:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11550039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelBelly/pseuds/RebelBelly
Summary: It's 1939 and Clarke Griffin wants nothing more than to dedicate her life to the study of medicine. In such a place as Arkadia University, where the Dean, the professors, and her fellow classmates mock this dream, there are very few places to escape to. She hadn't expected her relationship with Bellamy to become something more that it originally was, but when a secret about her future and her family dawns on her, Clarke must come to terms with what she really wants. Before it's too late.





	1. Chapter 1

Her eyes stung but she held back the tears. She would not cry in front of this man. She wouldn’t dare let him know how she felt. Instead she pursed her lips and nodded along as he spoke. 

“You see here Miss Griffin, there’s just no chance that you’ll be able to keep up in such advanced classes.” The dean sat back in his big leather chair, looking far too smug for his own good. Clarke had the mind to ring him out, or at least mutter something about the god-awful décor in his office being a tool of compensation. Really who needed a chair that big unless they felt inadequate in some other aspect of their life? 

She never would of course. That was not expected of a lady of her stature, and while she was nearly through her bachelor, top of most of her classes, a prime candidate for the University’s medical program; of course all the Dean saw, all the boys in her classes, and her professors saw, was a skirt and a pair of boobs, and suddenly her intelligence no longer mattered. Dante Wallace’s words may have stung in the back of her eyes, but they did little to deter her. 

“Well thank you for your concern sir,” Clarke stood, smoothing out her skirt and reaching for her book bag. “And I gratefully appreciate the time you took to seek me out, but I have no problem in any of my classes, and my application for the University’s medical faculty is most certainly an attainable goal based on performance, wouldn’t you say?” 

Wallace stood, reaffirming the position of his specks quickly, as if it were a nervous reflex or a signal of his annoyance for the sudden end to his patronizing rant. “Miss Griffin I suggest you take this winter break as an opportunity to reevaluate you future plans. Yes, your grades are some of the best we’ve ever had, but the work load will only get more intense and we don’t have the resources to invest our time into a dream that will very well come to an end as you” a pause, “mature.” 

Clarke’s smile wavered as he continued, “The laws may have changed, but nature does not, you know that best. Now you’ve proven yourself quite the intellectual, young lady, but from a professional viewpoint, your bachelor would do you just adequately. And surely your status among the other wives will make you popular just enough as you are.” 

That caught her off guard, “I’m not married sir.” 

He laughed, “No, of course not. Not yet.” 

Clarke bit her tongue, nodded and turned toward the great mahogany doors. She stormed out the Dean’s office, leaving his secretary shaking her head in her wake. This wasn’t new, Clarke was used to such patronizing talks from men who felt their opinions on her best interest were of any consolation for denying her ambitions. A woman doctor, it’s not that it hadn’t been done, it just hadn’t been expected of her. Her mother nearly fainted when she told her, and this wasn’t the first man to tell her to step down before she gets too submerged in this man’s world, but she had been up against worse odds before. 

Clarke found her feet leading her down the empty university hallways, taking her with them of their own accord. Leading her to the only place she ever found comfort in this dominating world. She stopped short of the door. Her nose almost touching the light, cheap wood – the word custodian sloppily painted on in white. He was probably busy; she knew she shouldn’t be here. Not after how they left things the day before, and for so many other reasons, but she couldn’t deny the way her heart fluttered at the thought of him inside, probably bent over another repair project, humming to himself without realizing it. 

The door sprang open and she took a step back instinctively. He looked like he had been in the middle of something, his brow furrowed, his eyes darting up from his calculation book. “Clarke?” 

Without a second thought she reached for him, crossing the doorframe and pressing her lips against his. He was frozen only for a moment before he dropped his workbook, reaching for her face. Clarke shot her hand out, finding the door behind her and shutting it before he pushed her up against it, deepening their kiss. 

Almost like routine, she dropped her book bag as he pushed her skirt up around her waist and lifted her against the door. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke sighed, his lips moving across her neck as he pressed into her. She was a modern woman - Clarke Griffin wasn’t one to believe in fairy tales, but when Bellamy touched her he left a trail of flames licking her skin. The way he fit against the cradle of her hips made her, if not involuntarily, feel as though they fit together perfectly in every way possible. 

As if out of cruelty he kissed her slowly, softly, leaving her moaning against his mouth as she rocked against his growing erection, starving for friction, needing to work out her frustration. Bellamy’s hands palmed her ass, and when he shifted her weight against him Clarke moaned again as he dug his free hand in her hair. She made quick use of her free hands to pull at his hair, then to pull down the suspenders keeping his pants in place before she untucked his shirt and ran her hands across the flesh above the waist of his trousers. 

Their kiss turned fervent, she needed him, she whispered it in his ear as he unbuckled his pants, and a wave of heat washed over her body. It shocked her in how many different ways she truly meant it, but she pushed the thought away. Suddenly without warning Bellamy pulled away, dropping her legs to the floor before pulling away altogether. 

Clarke stood, wobbly on her feet, and pulling her skirt down as she watched him turn around, running his hands through his hair. She was out of breath, confused, blood pounding in her ears, “What’s wrong?” 

Bellamy pressed his hands against his workbench, she knew he had that furrow in his brow, even before he was turning back to look at her. “You can’t just come here whenever you want. I have a job you know.” 

Clarke scoffed, “Are you still mad about the other night?” 

Bellamy looked away; repositioning his suspenders before reaching down to grab his workbook, it didn’t make him look any less defiled and Clarke soaked in his dark messy curls, his red lips. 

When he didn’t respond she crossed her arms, and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. That’s what got them in this mess in the first place, “We had a fight. That’s what…. That’s what we do.” 

Bellamy was still looking down at his calculations. “Why are you really here Clarke?”

She grabbed her book bag and placed it on the coat rack, taking off her blazer as well. She wanted him to know she wasn’t storming out on him, not this time at least. “Dean Wallace has prematurely determined I’m a bit too woman to be admitted to the medical program.” 

That got him to look up, brows furrowed again like when he had first opened the door. Bellamy dropped his book on his worktable, folding his arms across his chest, “Clarke that’s ridiculous. You can’t let that man limit you. You’re too smart, you’ve come to far to let him scare you.” 

Clarke smirked, feeling foolish as her stomach coiled at his words. Her eyes fell to the floor but only for a moment, “I know.” 

He smiled as she looked into his eyes, repositioning her chin so she looked as confident as her words had been.

She made her way over to him, “There’s no way in hell I’m letting that nasty man tell me what I can and can’t do." 

Bellamy laced his arms around her waist as she lazily pressed her chest against his. “That’s some strong language for a fine young woman like yourself. Wouldn’t have expected that from you Ms. Griffin.” 

“I think you’ll come to find, I don’t often conform to others expectations.” She leaned into his smile, and kissed him until it slipped from his face.

********

“You’re home late Miss.” Yolanda peaked around the doorframe into the foyer. Clarke was shaking the snow from her jacket as the old woman smiled at her. 

“Had some work I wanted to finish.” Clarke didn’t like lying particularly; especially not to a woman she’d known her whole life but it wasn’t as if she had another choice. If anyone were to understand her Yolanda would but it’s not her maid’s reaction that Clarke would have to worry about. 

“If you want I can heat up some supper for you Miss?” Yolanda put down the duster she had in hand and made a move toward the kitchen. Clarke reached out in protest as she placed her wet shoes on the drying rack. 

“No need Yolanda.” Clarke made her way to plant a kiss on her cheek before stepping up the stairs. 

The old maid stopped her, “Did you already eat Miss? You can’t miss dinner, a hard working young lady such as yourself! You need fuel in that furnace.” 

Clarke smiled. Half of Bellamy’s baloney sandwich he had insisted on sharing probably wouldn’t have lived up to Yolanda’s standards. It certainly wasn’t the typical Friday night roast, with carrots and potatoes but it had been enough to keep her stomach from growling as Bellamy drove her to the corner of her street, and her mind had been racing so much between then she hadn’t noticed her hunger. 

“I grabbed something in the University canteen.” Clarke lied. “Is my father in his study?”

Yolanda nodded, Clarke’s answer had sufficed, “Yes Miss. And you’re mothers off to bed, so you needn’t worry. Goodnight.” 

As she watched the maid go back to her work, Clarke whispered her goodbyes and wondered when exactly Yolanda had started warning her where her mother was in her own house. She was grateful nonetheless, but Clarke was still sure to here it from her mother tomorrow morning. 

Her father was less strict about curfew; especially tonight after Clarke had explained she was at school finishing calculations before grabbing a taxi home. She was pouring a brandy from her fathers bar cart while she watched him sitting back in his leather chair by the fire, lighting up a cigar he had gotten from their vacation in Cuba. It simultaneously felt like home, and struck a nerve, reminding her of all the privilege they had as she remembered afternoons in Bellamy’s small, worn apartment. If only he could see her now. See her father for that matter. It struck her how much she wanted the two men to like each other, and how much she knew they never would. 

“You seem dazed Clarke?” Her father noticed as she handed him the glass and took a seat on the sofa across from him. “I think I might have just the news to bring you out of it.” 

Clarke smiled, though she was tired. She had in fact gotten back much later than usual, and struggled to hold back a yawn. Nightly chats with her father in his den were always pleasant, but Clarke was sure nothing could interest her more in this moment than the cool silk of her pillow. 

“Dean Wallace contacted me today.” That got Clarke’s attention. She tired not to seem worried but thoughts rushed through her. Had he convinced her father to take her off the medical track? Would he stop funding her education?

“Oh don’t look so startled my dear,” Jake smiled as he took a drag, “He informed me that his son is in your very same year at the University? That you have numerous classes together?” 

Clarke’s brows furrowed, “Cage? Yes.”

Cage Wallace was an insufferable asshole that had enough air in his head to float him through the atmosphere; it was hard not to notice him. He was also tied with Clarke as the top of their classes together, which drove her mad to no end. 

“Well you’ve seem to done a number on him. Wallace has asked for his family to join us for dinner tomorrow night.” Her father looked almost giddy and it made Clarke want to throw up as her stomach twisted in knots. “Now don’t tell your mother I told you. She wanted to do that herself.” 

So that’s what Wallace had been proposing in his office. An ultimatum of sorts. She shivered at the memory of it as she had insisted she wasn’t married - his response Not yet. 

Clarke fought to hold back her fear, “And what business would he have coming here father?” 

Jake laughed into his crystal glass, “Oh child don’t be so naïve. The boy has taken an interest in you. This is a very good match indeed. My research needs a University to facilitate our growing progress, and Wallace has offered to take me on as a professor in exchange for a partnership. They are a great family Clarke, we would do well to impress them.” 

With that she watched her father take a final swig and stand up to put out the fire. She sat frozen on the sofa, but smiled as he left for the night, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek and squeezing her shoulder. It was meant to be assuring but it felt like a noose tightening around her neck. 

She lay in bed that night assessing all of her options. Clarke had always assumed her family would let her choose her own husband; the times were changing after all. And her father had always read her those stories, the one of the princess and the prince, and as much as the fantasy of true love made her sick, the idea of spending the rest of her life, legally bound to Cage Wallace made her run to the bathroom and vomit. 

Somehow Clarke managed to fall asleep early in the morning, and she woke up later than expected. She had been hoping to sneak out early before her mother was up, and escape to Bellamy’s. He would probably have no clue what to say but Clarke felt like even just his presence will calm her nerves, help her think clearly. 

“So you’re father has ruined the surprise.” Abby called from the parlor while Clarke snuck down the stairs. Her mother had an ear like a hawk, and Clarke let out a sigh of defeat before making her way into the room. Her mother motioned for her to join her, a platter of tea and scones on the table, and a book in her hand. 

Clarke smoothed out her dress as she took a seat, uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa, so as to spring up at the first chance she could escape. 

“Tea Miss Clarke?” Yolanda offered her from her position beside her mother. They must have been going over the preparations for the dinner that night. Clarke shook her head, she didn’t plan on staying long, but her mother motioned for Yolanda to serve Clarke breakfast, so it seemed Abby had other plans. 

“You’re father promised me I’d be the one to tell you, but you know him. He’s never been one to keep his mouth shut.” 

Clarke smiled nervously. Where her father was gentle and romantic, her mother was sharp and practical. The match between Cage and Clarke would have tremendous advantages for Jake’s research, her mother’s social life and Clarke’s future security. Her fantasy of becoming a surgeon, living out her own dreams seemed to be slipping away before her eyes, everything she had worked for gone as her mother glanced at her over her tea cup. 

“Mother,” Clarke looked down at her sweaty palms.

Abby raised her hand, “Now I know what you’re going to say. But Clarke this isn’t just about you anymore. You’ve gone off, lived out you’re little game, played doctor – but it’s time to be realistic.” 

Clarke stood, the words falling out of her mouth without so much as a pause, “I have worked harder in my time at that University than you could ever understand. I have handed over my blood, sweat, and tears. Medicine is not just a fantasy Mother it is my passion. I will be a doctor. Now I know you could never understand that, “

“Clarke sit down,” Abby’s voice was small but firm, it had the ability to make Clarke feel so out of place in her own home. She sat back down despite her heart begging her to run out the door and never come back. 

“You’re right, I will never understand you’re need to be a doctor. Spending hours poking bodies and discussing formulas, I do not see the appeal. But you’ve done much to convince me that you belong there alongside those men and I respect that.” Clarke found a small sense of solace in her Mother’s acknowledgement, but braced herself as Abby continued, “What I also respect is your ability to think logically. Now logically you want to stay enrolled at the University, you want to proceed to medical school – and to do that you need our money. The money, which is drying up as your father’s research goes nowhere.”

Clarke looked at her mother as Abby leaned in, her perfect posture breaking for a moment to capture Clarke’s attention, as if, despite being alone in this big empty house, she was letting her in on a secret. “You’re marriage to Cage is the only key to the future you want my dear. The only question is how badly do you want it? Without this we will be nothing, and I know you are a smart girl, my love.” 

Clarke’s head was spinning. Her mother was already so sure about marriage, and the Wallace’s hadn’t even been to dinner yet. What was happening behind closed doors that she wasn’t privy to? All she did know was that she needed to get out of that house. 

Yolanda came back carrying a tray of oatmeal for Clarke, and she felt bad standing up to excuse herself without warning. 

“Miss?” Yolanda asked as Clarke bounded past her.

She turned back for a moment to see her Mother’s attention had already gone back to her book. “I’m heading to the University to pick up some calculations I forgot. I won’t be back for lunch.” 

As she rushed to put on her shoes and hat her mother called after her, right as she swung the front door open. “Dear, be sure to be back soon. We want you looking spiffy for dinner tonight.”

Clarke’s stomach lurched at the thought before running out into the snow and slamming the door as she left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first attempt at smut so bare with me y'all!! Also Cage Wallace is supposed to be much younger here than he was in the show. Clarke and Octavia are close in age, Clarke being 20 and Octavia being 18. Bellamy is 24, with Cage being the same age.

“Oh god,”

Clarke reaches for a bar on Bellamy’s headboard as he thrusts into her. Her head falling back as she tries to lose herself in the rhythm. He feels so right pressed up against her bare skin, his hands on either side of her as his mouth trails across her neck. She can feel herself coming close, but she needs more, she needs to feel connected, in control. 

Clarke runs her hands through his hair, grabs it, drawing his attention to her face as his thrusts became more frantic. She looks between his eyes and his mouth and she can’t help but smile as his brows furrow in question.

Without warning she wraps an arm around his back and flips them over, Bellamy still buried inside her, hitting her in a new place that has her vision blur and his name pouring out of her mouth. 

The walls of his bedroom are thin, and Clarke spares a second to thank whatever had Octavia out of the apartment so early in the afternoon before her attention is pulled back by Bellamy’s mouth kissing his way across her breasts. She brings his face to meet hers - kissing him until her chest feels like it’ll explode before pushing him away, so he lay staring up at her while her nails dig into his tan chest. 

Clarke watches the lust in Bellamy’s eyes as she lifts herself up and falls back onto him, watches his eyes trace her face and then her chest as her head lulls back and she comes undone on top of him. It’s only moments later as she’s riding out her orgasm that Bellamy topples over the edge with her name on his lips. 

She traces the red marks on his chest with her index finger as she rests beside him in the tangled sheets. 

“Sorry,” She whispers, looking up at him to find he had been staring at her already. Her heart fluttering like a fool as a smile breaks out across his face. 

Bellamy props himself up on his elbow beside her, “Sorry about what exactly? Now I’ve got something to show off to the lads.” 

Clarke bites her lip, and gives Bellamy a shove so he falls back into the pillows, “You wouldn’t dare!” 

She leaps up to straddle him, like they had been minutes before, except this time, there was a fondness in his face, warmth in his smile that Clarke noticed. Something that couldn’t be mistaken for lust, and that scared her a little. But it also drew a smile out of her as well, and she leans down to brush the curls from his forehead. 

She needs to tell him about the dinner, about Cage. But this moment feels so far away from all that, so safe and personal. So instead she sits there, running her finger down the bridge of his nose. She lines the curve of his lips while his hands trail down her bare back, and she takes in how it feels to have her naked body lean against his in a scene so incredibly domestic. The intimacy of it leaves her feeling as though her heart is breaking inside her chest. Clarke marvels at how naive that sounds, and as a woman of science she nearly scoffs at the idea of a heart breaking. But there is no scientific way to explain the pressure building in her chest, and the sorrow she feels at imagining her life without moments like these. 

“Bellamy I,” Clarke’s voice came out barely above a whisper, and suddenly the loud knocking on the front door drowned it out. Bellamy leans over, grabbing his trousers from the floor, and makes a quick exist to answer it. 

Clarke can only make out segments of the whispered conversation but she knows instantly that it’s about money. By the time she hears the door slam shut she knows it was Bellamy’s landlord asking where the rent money was, threatening to throw him out on the streets, and swearing that he should never have trusted his kind. 

While Clarke’s family had made it through the Depression without much scathing, people like Bellamy and Octavia fought with tooth and nail just to stay alive. She knew they had problems with money, but he never wanted to talk about it, he had always insisted that he was fine, but she knows it ate away at him. He had had such a bright future. Bellamy is so incredibly smart, and not the kind of smart like the men in her classes. He has a real drive to learn, reading any spare second he can, with such an innate passion for understanding that makes him light up about the most boring of subjects. 

When Bellamy comes back into the room the smile that had previously lit up his face is replaced by the furrow in his brow, which often takes permanence on his thoughtful face. He leans down to grab his shirt, and Clarke notices as he slips a piece of paper into his back pocket. She wants to ask him what it was for, but she thought it best not to, maybe she wasn’t supposed to have heard all those other things as well. The walls are thin, but she knew better than to bring it up.

As he buttons up his shirt Clarke admires his smooth, muscled chest, and leans back in his bed to watch him run his hands through his hair and grab a belt from his dresser. “Clarke?”

She pulls herself out of her haze, “Sorry?” 

“You had started to say something,” Bellamy’s mouth pulls into a quick smirk, “before?” 

“Oh yes,” She sits up, and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, and reaches for her slip. She thinks about bringing the dinner up again, but she decides against it. He was going through enough at the moment. She could handle it without worrying him. “I was just going to say that I have to be going.” 

“Don’t feel like slumming it all afternoon?” Bellamy finds her red DuBarry dress and hands it to Clarke as she tries her best to pretend that it didn’t cost more than the three months rent Bellamy owed. 

She slips into it; letting him help her with the buttons she could have easily gotten herself. But she doesn’t mind as his hands linger on the back of her neck where she swept away the curls. She sighs, “Well not all afternoon dear, I do have some errands I have to run.” 

“Oh is that right,” As she turns to face him, the smile is back and it makes her heart leap again. The rate at which this happens around him had her wondering at what risk she was for heart failure when even the mere sight of him could conjure such a reaction. She smirks at the playful challenge, and takes a step into the common room of the apartment, Bellamy watching after her as he leans in the doorway between his room and the one she’s standing in. 

“I would love to stay,” Clarke mock sighs, “I mean it is no personal criticism, but I just happen to find the bank teller more interesting.” 

Bellamy laughs into the crook of his elbow, “And what exactly do you like about him so much?” 

Clarke makes a move toward him, “Well you see, you have some lovely qualities too. You’re rather handsome I would say,”

“How generous.” 

Clarke hushes him, and she watches as he tries not to laugh again as she circles him, running a hand across his chest, “ You’re tall, and muscular, and smart. Some would say you’re even pleasant to talk to.” 

When she gets back to his face she is biting her lip to keep from laughing, “You’re quiet good in bed, it’s just that the bank teller has – ”

“Money?” Bellamy lets out, and Clarke smacks him with her purse. 

“I was going to say a rather intriguing glass eye!” And with that they both give up their pretenses and brake out in laughter. She hardly notices Octavia make her way into the apartment. 

“What in hell?” She questions as she closes the door behind her. 

Bellamy is still shaking with laughter but takes a moment to fix his sister with a glare, “O, watch your language.” 

“Why? I live here too, at least for now,” Octavia was usually a bright, pleasant young woman but she glares at Clarke with a venomous look before shoving past her brother towards her room, and whispers after them, “And I’m not up to pretending we have a virtuous Lady in this house.” 

Clarke shifts uncomfortably on her feet, before unconsciously grabbing at the open collar of her dress. She was a modern woman, and she prides herself on being such, but that doesn’t stop the shame from rising in her cheeks. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy takes a step toward her, “She didn’t mean that, Pike must have caught her on the way up and harassed her for the rent. I’ll deal with it.” 

He gives her a quick peck on the cheek before turning and making his way into Octavia’s room. She stands for a moment in the empty room, looking around at the life Bellamy and Octavia lived, hating herself for knowing that she doesn’t belong. Hating the way she feels at having someone, even just Octavia, know how dirty she feels for it. 

She doesn't resent Bellamy, not even for a moment would she regret what they had. She cares for him more than she could ever put into words. Sometimes even thought about it. Love. Letting it slip through her lips at tender moments, or when passion has her firmly grasped, crying out in pleasure. Clarke wants to tell him, she just knows he would push her away for it. This was never meant to be something more than it was. What it was wasn't quite the same anymore but she doesn’t dare bring that up out of fear he would suddenly disappear forever. 

Instead she rights her hair in the mirror and steps out of the apartment.   
"Afternoon," There was a southern drawl to his voice, the man who stood in the doorway of the apartment next door, in nothing but his boxers and an undershirt. Murphy, Clarke remembers Bellamy mentioning his name before. Either way she feels the heat set in her cheeks again, as he looks her up and down, taking a drag of his cigarette. 

She begins walking away slowly at first, but hears him call after her - "You sounded much more agreeable through the walls," - And she bolts. 

Clarke doesn't actually have any errands to run, so she takes to walking around Bellamy's neighborhood for a while before jumping in a cab and making her way home. She had forgotten all about the dinner and the Wallace's, and her impending engagement by the time she walks through the door, shivering and swearing herself out for forgetting her gloves on Bellamy's countertop.

"Clarke!" Her mother was in full dress; her pearls and all, snapping Clarke back to reality. "How could you be so late on a night like this? The Wallace's will be here in less than an hour!"

“Mother –” Clarke starts, but Abby puts her hand up in protest. 

“Yolanda!” Abby yells up the stairs, “Start the bath, Clarke has decided to grace us with her presence.” 

And with a stern look and a shake of the head her mother makes her way to the kitchen, probably to check on dinner. 

Clarke sighs but doesn’t protest, a warm bath sounds like the perfect remedy to her freezing hands and feet. Not to mention that feeling tracing her skin since she’d left Bellamy’s, like she needed to wipe herself clean of Octavia’s words, and Murphy’s stare. Or perhaps it was her own shame that had her feeling this way. 

She ran the hot water over her naked skin; rubbing the cloth where hours earlier Bellamy had touched her, showered her in kisses. The memory made her shudder with pleasure, and she tries her best not to feel guilty for it. She should have told him about tonight, told him that she would have to smile and talk to, and most likely flirt, with another man when all she wanted was to be with him. She wonders if he would care. She would most certainly care if she knew he as getting on with another girl, and it suddenly dawns on her that maybe he is.

Maybe Octavia was right to think of her as just another trollop Bellamy brings home, maybe she was fooling herself into thinking she was special. They had certainly never talked about such matters. In fact the whole affair had happened rather innocently at first, and simply escalated into such circumstances - of which Clarke isn’t too sure. It had been nearly a year now, but that seemed almost too soon for her to be certain of her feelings, especially if she was not sure of his, right?

By the time Clarke has dressed, and set her hair, she is almost amidst a panic attack. And for some one about to be forced into a marriage with Cage Wallace, logically her priorities were not in the right place. 

Love makes you do stupid things, that’s what her father always said. 

Love.

Clarke was standing in the floor length mirror, staring at herself in the midnight blue evening dress her mother had laid out for her, and adjusting her diamond earring when she finally admits it, even just to herself. She loves Bellamy, and that was far scarier than anything that her mother could put her up to tonight. 

She watches her chest rise and fall in the mirror, much quicker than one should normally be breathing she noted, Clarke sighs to herself, “Dammit.” 

She is being foolish, she was putting her heart on the line, and for someone she wasn’t even sure felt the same way.

Clarke hadn’t even noticed Yolanda had slipped into her room, “Miss?”

Clarke looks up, “Ah, the Wallace’s have arrived have they.” 

It isn’t a question, she can hear them talking downstairs as the music drifts up and it churns Clarke’s stomach, but Yolanda nods nonetheless. 

“You look radiant Miss, the young Mr. Wallace would be lucky to have you even glance in his direction.” Clarke smiles, and gives the older woman a kiss on the cheek before slipping out of her room. It takes her a moment, and a big breath of air before she finally descended the stairs. 

Because it isn’t just a glance in his direction that Cage is expecting from her; nor were his parents or hers for that matter. Her father’s research, her mother’s lifestyle and her future rested on this night. 

As they sat in the parlor, pleasantries having gone as awkwardly as expected, Clarke sits as straight as she can, pretending to intently listen to stories of Dante Wallace’s skiing escapades, while Virginia Wallace eyes her from across the coffee table. The older woman looks to be the grumpiest person Clarke has ever laid eyes on, and even when she smiles, or laughs it seems riddled with dejection. Either she is simply a rather sad person, or Mrs. Wallace is just upset externally as Clarke is on the inside. 

Clarke takes another sip of her chardonnay, and dares a glance at the woman, who seems to still be eyeing her. She is in fact, and without looking away Clarke bravely fixes her with a smile, which has her shaking her head and turning her attention back to her husband. 

Clarke has that tenacious gift of making grown woman shake their heads in disapproval and it makes her grin before she turns to stand and retrieve more wine, realizing Virginia Wallace wasn’t the only one staring. 

Cage had been standing behind her, and he doesn’t seem to shy away as Clarke walks past him to the bar in the corner of the room, out of earshot of their parents. 

“That dress is quite something Miss Griffin.” Cage gawks and coupled with his false niceties Clarke tires her best not to roll her eyes. 

“Well,” Clarke refuses to turn toward him, his chest already so close to her shoulder that she fears doing so would bring her closer to his face than she would ever want to be, “I’ll be sure to let my mother know you appreciate it. Because it was most certainly not my idea.” 

“Why must you be so formal Clarke?” Cage laughs and the sound makes her chest tighten. “After all, we do know each other quite well. Three years of laboratories and lecture halls together can make certain people more fond of one another don’t you agree?” 

No, she wants to yell it in his face. Scream out all the hatred she had pent up inside about the names she’s heard those men call her. All the unwarranted looks, and touches she’s received which make her look back at these past three years with disdain. Where Cage sees an institution built for him to succeed and flourish, Clarke sees a system that tries everything it can to crush her spirit. And he is part of it all. 

She puts down the bottle of wine she had been pouring and glances at him, “Can we speak frankly?” 

Cage seems only for a moment caught off guard, like there was a shift in the rules of the game, but he is still certain he could win, “Of course darling.” 

She tries not to physically cringe, “Why are you doing this?”

“Playing along, just as you are.” Cage shrugs, “My father gets his share of the Griffin fortune, both of our families gain in stature, and personally I profit from that firm ass, and top notch brain.” 

He is smiling now, and Clarke would most certainly have reached out and struck him if she wasn’t so shocked by his candor. 

He reaches across the space between them and taps on her chin, “Don’t looked so shocked dear, you’re quite the catch, and your impressive research proposals on bacteria suggest you could help me publish award winning medical journals. That is if you do the smart thing and play the game.” 

“But your father?” Clarke lets out in a single breath.

“Thinks I’ve fallen head over heels,” Cage smirks before plopping an olive in his mouth. 

“Cage,” Clarke starts before Yolanda announces dinner has been served and he quickly walks off toward the dinning room. 

Clarke makes her way, her feet pushing her forward in a mechanical familiarity as her mind spins. Abby grabs her by the elbow and drags her into the front foyer before she has the chance to topple over. Everyone else already having gone through to the dining room Abby asks, “What did he say darling?”

“He,” Clarke feels sick, her mother’s nails digging into her arm expectedly, “He just wants money, and prestige and oh god mother I can’t.”

Abby’s grip tightens, “I don’t care if he wants you to put a basket of fruit on your head and sing God Save the Queen, Clarke.” Her mother looks through her with an intensity that make Clarke’s eyes water as she bites into her bottom lip. “For God’s sake we need the Wallace’s so it is best that you make a good impression or it’s ruin for us all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again feel free to ask if you have any questions, or comment any mistakes you see in the text! Let me know what you think and I hope you enjoyed it!! 
> 
> ps. I know I made Abby out to be a meanie, I absolutely adore mama Griffin in the show, but it makes for some good drama, so pls don't hate me!


	3. Chapter 3

As Clarke sat, looking around her dinning room table, she saw nothing more than a collection of scared, malleable people trying so desperately to perform for their meal ticket. And what she hated most of all was that she was one of them; she hated how trapped she felt, suffocating with no way out without abandoning her family entirely. 

By the time the Wallace’s had gathered their coats, thanked Abby and Jake for dinner, and arranged a date between her and Cage, Clarke was exhausted. The fake smile slipping from her face the second the door closed softly behind their guests, and Clarke immediately made her way to the bar for something stronger than chardonnay. 

It took her only a few moments to down the shot of her fathers imported tequila and slip off the clip holding her curls stiffly atop her head. Abby made way to join Jake on the sofa in the parlour, and Clarke could feel them both eyeing her as she pulled the silk gloves from her arms. 

“Well I think that went rather smashingly don’t you my dears?” Jake sipped his brandy, looking quite pleased with himself. Clarke would have said something if only her whole body hadn’t gone numb hours ago. Was this to be the rest of her life?

She slipped from the room, her father calling after her, but Clarke didn’t care – she couldn’t bring herself to care anymore, at least not in this moment. She sat at the top of the stairs a while after, listening as she had done as a child, as Abby told Jake that Clarke was simply overwhelmed, too much excitement can do that to a young woman. If only her mother could see her stumble her way under her covers, still dawning her evening dress as she let the exhaustion pull her under. 

She awoke to a pounding in her head and Yolanda grasping her shoulder, shaking her lightly. “Miss?”

Clarke let out a sigh, “Mmp?”

“Miss I’m sorry to wake you so early, but there is a young woman on our stoop asking for you.” Yolanda whispered. It must be early otherwise her mother would be in here herself. “She says her name is Ms. Blake - That you would know that name Miss?” 

With that Clarke shot up, startling Yolanda so that she flew back before handing Clarke her robe. Clarke shook it off, jumping out of bed before slipping on some shoes and rushing down the stairs, Yolanda not far behind her. 

“You left her standing in the cold?” Clarke asked, it was still dark out, the sun just peaking above the horizon, and Clarke figured it must have still been freezing out. 

“Well I didn’t want to chance it Miss,” Yolanda rushed to her own defense, and Clarke figured she was right to do so. Clarke nodded before opening the front door. 

Octavia was on the stoop, holding her arms close to her chest, “Clarke!” 

“Come in,” She offered but the young woman shook her head.

“You have to come with me,” Octavia had tears in her eyes, she looked like she wanted to say more but glanced between Clarke and Yolanda. Seeing the confusion on Clarke’s face she preceded, “He needs help. There’s blood everywhere, just please - ” 

“Oh god,” Clarke whispered to herself more than to anyone, and turned to grab her coat. Before leaving she looked to Yolanda, “I have some things I need to look after. If my parents ask for me, I am helping at the medical clinic today.” 

Yolanda reached out for Clarke, grabbing her wrist as she turned out the door, “And where will you actually be Miss?”

Clarke looked at the older woman, taking perhaps a second too long, “The medical clinic.”

As she slipped her hand free, Clarke knew that this time she hadn’t quite convinced Yolanda, but there wasn’t time. She grabbed Octavia’s hand and took off down the street, sparing only a second to look back and see Yolanda closing the door after them. 

The first thing she noticed when they burst through the door to the apartment was the blood; it was all over the floor, rags soaked with it littering the table. She turned to Octavia, “Where is he?”

Octavia led her to his room where she found Bellamy, bruised and bloody, withering on top of the sheets. An ungody sight of blood mixed with vomit as he laid there seemingly unconscious. 

“Bellamy?” She kneeled down beside him as Octavia moved to open the curtains letting in the morning sun. Grabbing his hand she watched his face twist in pain, he let out a whimper before she let go. He wasn’t wearing much, just his trousers, which helped her assess the wounds without having to touch him much. He had several serious bruises, perhaps a broken rib or two. A nasty cut above his eye, and another one along his left shoulder. 

Octavia made a noise, as if for Clarke to mind herself before she could sit on the soiled sheets beside him. Clarke had seen much worse during her days at the clinic, and if anything the mess could help her determine what was wrong with him. So she sat down despite Octavia’s warning and checked him over. 

His eyes weren’t open but he continued to mumble. She didn't know how or why, but he appeared as though he probably a lot of punches, seeing from the bruising and the cuts across his body and face. She figured the blood was most likely from the wound on his shoulder, which would probably need stitching, and perhaps to be set back into place. But for the most part blood was never an indicator of how serious an injury was; mostly she was worried about the vomiting. Fearing the worst Clarke wondered about brain damage, but for the moment she would take to treating his state like a serious concussion. 

After this quick assessment Clarke removed her jacket, turning to Octavia, “What happened?” 

Octavia was silent for a moment and Clarke remembered she was still in her evening gown. She must've looked so out of place. Octavia turned to her brother and let out, “Came home like this, just stumbled through the door before throwing some money on the table.” 

She bit her lip looking at her brother, Clarke could tell she was seconds from breaking into tears. She turned on her heel, trying to compose herself as Clarke followed her out into the common room, “He told me he would stop with the fights. I even got a job to make up the rent. God, I don’t know what I would do without him.” 

Clarke took in an audible gasp as Octavia collapsed into her arms. The young woman, who Clarke had always seen as proud and strong willed, crumbled into her hold and it took her by surprise. Clarke was never the best with patient’s families, and in this particular case she wanted to spend every second she could helping Bellamy. But in this moment Clarke allowed herself to fall into their embrace, allowed herself a moment to let her own emotion become the better of her. She wiped away the tears before they fell, but that didn’t stop Octavia from handing Clarke a rag and offering her a change of clothes. As she accepted and quickly threw on a simple frock, Octavia explained that she had found Clarke’s address in the telephone book; she knew she was in school to be a doctor and was the only one Octavia thought could help after Bellamy fell unconscious. 

As confused and scared as Clarke was she was grateful to be there, and thanked Octavia before sending her off to bed, telling her she’d do more good rested than standing around worried and exhausted. 

After cleaning the blood and the sick from the floor, Clarke made her way back into Bellamy’s room with a pot of warm water on her hip and a kitchen chair in her other hand. She washed his torso and face with soap while she assessed the cut above his eye, running her cloth around it and determining whether or not this one would have to be sewed shut as well. She didn’t think so, but she did wonder what could possibly have been the cause of the cut on his shoulder. That’s where most of the blood seemed to have come from, but it was mostly arterial blood, bright red from where the tissue had been cut. It made for a shocking scene, but it seemed to look far worse than it was as she washed it clean. It wasn’t surprising that Octavia had panicked though; it had taken Clarke a few breaths, standing over him, bruised and bloody, to come to this conclusion herself, and she had been training for 4 years already. 

“What happened to that fancy dress?” Bellamy’s voice was soft, fragile but the shock of it in the quiet of the morning had her jumping from her chair, “The dress was nice. Shinny.” 

Clarke recovered quickly and leaned over him to brush the curls from his forehead. 

“Hey,” Clarke whispered, “Bell?” 

He let out another mumble, like he was falling back asleep. 

“Bellamy you need to stay awake, please.” He didn’t respond and for a moment her heart felt like it stopped beating. She was almost shouting, “Bell, please wake up.” 

“It’s so bright,” He let out and Clarke almost cried as relief welled in her chest. She quickly crossed the room to close the curtains Octavia had opened, plunging the room back into darkness. 

She watched as his eyes followed her back to her seat on the bed beside him, and she thought that a good sign, most likely just a concussion then. 

“So you liked the dress?” It was trivial but she needed to keep him awake and talking. What she really wanted to ask was how the hell this had happened. 

“Mmh” He sounded in agreement. His eyes fluttered closed again, but this time in pain as he tried to lift himself up, to lean against his headboard. Clarke laid her hand across his chest to still him. 

“I wouldn’t be trying that quite yet,” She warned. He looked at her in the darkness, his eyes watering, from the pain or the relief, she wasn’t quite sure. 

She knew it was too soon, that he needed to rest. She had been there less than an hour and his condition would probably take weeks to better but she couldn’t bring herself to wait that long. 

“Bellamy,” She whispered, his eyes still trained on her face, “How did this happen?” 

He looked at her for a moment before letting his eyes trail down to his hand, picking at a loose string in the quilt on the bed. The only sound in the room being the movement of the fabric and a bird’s song drifting in with the muted morning light. 

She waited a bit longer, far longer than she thought possible when tensions seemed so high, and with each second ticking by she became less understanding and more frustrated. Some time later she asked again. “Bellamy?” 

“Look Clarke,” He interrupted, “ Sometimes I have to do what’s best for O.” 

Clarke leaned back in her chair; far enough away so that when he reached for her hand she was out of his reach. She crossed her arms in front of her chest instead, signally for him to further explain. 

He tried to reposition himself, perhaps to make himself feel less exposed, less fragile tucked away in his bed while she nursed him. He gave up as Clarke watched the pain flash across his face. She wasn’t concerned for his life now, so instead of worry eating away at her stomach she felt guilty for thinking its what he got for keeping things from her. She wasn't one to judge. 

He cleared his throat instead, “It’s just something to make up for the money I don’t get at the University. I don’t have time during the day for another job, so it works out. Pike tells me what nights and where, and all I have to do is show up and win.” 

Clarke’s worry was back, “So you’re boxing then? Gambling your life away to make up the rent?” 

Bellamy looked at her in a way he hadn’t done in a year. Like she was a complete outsider, that she could never understand him. And that was true, Clarke had never wanted for anything in her life. Except perhaps her freedom; But Bellamy’s plight was much more visceral, much more degrading because if he didn’t have that money he could end up on the street, or worse. And Octavia with him. 

She didn’t understand that kind of pain. The stress and the struggle that ate away at him day after day. Not only that but having to hide that from his sister, and from her. Clarke suddenly felt a new wave of guilt for even thinking for a moment Bellamy deserved any kind of pain. Instead he was a man who picked himself up over and over as the world beat him down. Clarke didn’t have any reason to be angry for him at that.

Bellamy’s brows furrowed, either from the stress or a headache caused by the concussion, perhaps both. She expected him to get angry, or raise his voice in defense against her naive accusations. Instead he just said, “What other choice do I have?” 

She didn’t say anything; she was stunned by the defeat in his voice. She could’ve chewed him out; argued that he was wasting his potential - that he could get himself killed. She didn’t. Instead she reached for him. She knew he was bruised, knew he was sore, but she brought herself over to the empty side of his bed and tucked herself up against his side, watching his face to make sure he wasn’t wincing while he promised her he was fine. He seemed like the kind of man that would do that. 

Clarke fit against his side, and leisurely draped an ankle across his, her head resting on his shoulder, far away from his broken ribs, but she could have sworn she could hear his heart beat. And with the steady rhythm in her ears, she drifted to sleep. 

Octavia woke her, and it took Clarke a few moments to remember where she was. The light outside had faded to an orange glow, and that in itself was a sensory shock. Had she really slept the day away? She looked up and saw Bellamy still asleep beside her. She shouldn't have let him fall asleep, but he lets out deep, soothing breaths and Clarke knows that he should be okay. 

“Sorry to wake you,” Octavia whispered, ‘But I’d figured you’d want to be getting home.” 

Clarke rubbed the sleep from her eyes, “Yes, of course.” 

Her mouth was dry, and she felt disoriented, she’d been in this bed plenty of times in the past year, but she’d never woken up in it before. 

Clarke walked into the main room, Octavia retreating with her and handing Clarke the dress she had changed out of that morning. Slipping on her jacket Clarke looked back into the room where Bellamy was asleep, his breathing steady and his face free of strain for the time being.

“Thank you,” Octavia looked as though, despite Clarke offering her a chance to sleep earlier, she hadn’t done so at all. Perhaps she had been listening to them talk, or just sat up with worry. 

“It was no trouble,” And that was true, Clarke would’ve come running no matter the circumstances. And while she had previously felt foolish, weighing her feelings for Bellamy against the cost of marrying Cage, she knew now for certain that for Bellamy, Clarke would do anything. 

Clarke leaned into the hug Octavia offered her, and gave the young girl a little squeeze. “If you need anything, find my number in the directory and don’t be afraid to call.”

Octavia nodded as Clarke peaked into Bellamy’s room one more time before making her way out into the hall. Warning Octavia to wake him every so often, and keep him away from reading anything or listening to the radio too loud. 

Again she found that neighbor, Murphy, this time sitting in the hall. Clarke froze and Octavia followed her out, standing in the doorframe. 

“He’s fine John,” Octavia let out an exasperated sigh, “stop beating yourself up and get some rest.” 

“Bold choice of words Blake,” The young man retorted with a sly smile, lasting only seconds before it slipped away again. Clarke was caught between the two as they shared neighborly banter; noting Murphy’s concern of Bellamy’s well being, she questions how she could’ve possibly been so afraid of John Murphy before. He was slight in frame, had a hooked nose, and kind eyes. Possibly too kind for that look of anguish he was sporting. Much like the Blake’s, Clarke wondered how many other undeserving people in this building, in this city, life had come down hard on. 

She motioned a goodbye, and Murphy offered her a nod. Clarke smiled to herself as she wrapped her winter coat around her waist while hailing a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading! Your support and comments are amazing, so glad people are liking it! Tell me what you think so far?!


	4. Chapter 4

When she made it home she was surprised to find the house empty, her parents must have gone out to a dinner party, or one of her father’s research events. She hoped it wasn’t at the invitation of the Wallace’s but knowing how her mother was able to weasel her way into social events, it probably was. 

Clarke deposited her coat on the rack in the foyer before making her way up to her room. Hoping to change out of Octavia’s dress and find something to clean the blood off of her evening gown before her mother noticed. 

She was tip toeing her way to her room before she heard Yolanda, “Miss?” 

Clarke froze in the doorway between her parent’s room and the hall, she must have looked like a deer in the headlights; Her hair loose around her face, falling from its clips. Her legs bare without her usual stockings, and sporting a dress Clarke wouldn’t even have in the back of her closet from her youth. 

She could see the questions float across Yolanda’s face as her eyes traveled over her and rested on the blood stained dress in her hands, “What happened Miss? Are you alright?” 

Clarke was frozen as the maid rushed over, grabbing the dress from her hands, “I…I… See, at the clinic…” 

The words just didn’t come. Really she should’ve been able to come up with something, or had in some capacity thought up and excuse just in case anyone had found out about Bellamy. But she hadn’t, hadn’t even thought about the possibility of being caught up in such a strenuous situation in which she could possibly even lose him. It caught her off guard but she suddenly broke into tears. 

“Oh Miss, I’m so sorry!” Yolanda caught Clarke just as she fell to the ground, wrapping her arms around her. Clarke found a comfort in the old woman clinging to her, Yolanda smelt like home, like the only real sense of family she’d ever known. She didn’t want to lie to her anymore so she stayed silent. Let the maid help her up, into a warm bath and then to bed. 

Clarke caught Yolanda’s hand in her own, just as she was leaving her room. “Thank you.” 

Yolanda smiled down at her, tucking Clarke’s hand back under the covers and bringing the sheet right up to her chin, as she had done when Clarke was young, “When you’re ready Miss. You’ll tell whatever it is that has your heart so heavy.” 

Planting a kiss on her forehead the woman took her leave. And Clarke lay in her bed wondering, of all the people in her life she truly loved, would anyone ever understand? Not her mother, her father. Not the Wallace’s, or her classmates, or the rest of this city. But that did little to stop her heart from warming thinking of them both. 

\-----------------------------------

The winter break seemed to fly by as she rushed between the free clinic, and checking up on Bellamy in her spare time. Avoiding her house, her mother, and Cage Wallace wasn’t especially difficult to do. Her mother couldn’t argue when she informed her of her dedication to the clinic, and Abby didn’t have to know that after her morning shifts Clarke would make her way across town to sit by Bellamy’s bedside to read, or more recently watch as he made dinner, or even just listen to Octavia and him banter back and forth. 

She fell easily into the pattern, the comfort of the Blake’s. Their apartment was small, and Bellamy was relatively confined while Clarke monitored his condition but it made for a home that Clarke had never experienced before. One built on continual nagging, and confessing each other’s secrets, and swearing that they hate the other. Something so full of laughter, and real love, that seemed so far from the fake smiles and masks that she’d learned to wear in front of her family and all that that came with. 

Clarke wasn’t quite sure, as weeks came and went, when she started seeing that apartment as more of a home to her than her house had ever been. But the warmth that filled her, watching as Octavia and Bellamy argued as to whether or not he’d caught O cheating at cards, with no real malice in their voices, seemed to thaw within her part of her heart she always so coolly tried to protect. 

It was her last day at the clinic before she was to spend New Years at senator Kane’s ski lodge with her parents, and of course the Wallace’s. But she still hadn’t told Bellamy about Cage, and for all intensive purposes there really was no reason to. She’d only seen Cage once more since the dinner with their parents, and it was at a charity ball with hundreds of other people. She probably would’ve seen him either way, or perhaps she was hoping that was the case. 

The ski trip was a bit more intimate though, and Clarke feared Abby had worked her way in once again, and is planning something Clarke would most certainly oppose. In any case she felt guilty, but she figured it was for Bellamy’s own good to be in the dark. He was on the mend and she didn’t need to worry him any more than she had to. 

“Clarke?” Maya interjects her thoughts, running into the storage room Clarke had been organizing “I think they need you in emergency!” 

The holidays were a particularly busy time for the free clinic, overflow from the hospital ended up at their door, which meant they often saw a lot more than the typical cold or flu case. In this particular incident Clarke ran into the emergency wing, watching three men carrying a petite woman, blood gushing from her leg. 

Severed femoral artery, her first guess would be. Everyone in the room was in shock, Clarke included. It took her a moment to realize none of the doctors were around to take charge. Two of the men were yelling, another one crying so Clarke, listening to that voice in her brain yelling to do anything, to do to everything, rushed over. 

“Nurse, get me a tourniquet!” Clarke ordered as she ushered the men toward a private room to put the young woman down on a bed. And when the nurse returned Clarke told her, “We need to cut the flow from the external iliac artery before she bleeds out.” 

Maya rushed in to take the men out of the way, into the waiting room while the other nurse, Echo, cut away the woman’s jumpsuit and Clarke applied the tourniquet quickly. 

The woman was surprisingly quite for the amount of pain she must’ve been in, nonetheless she was sobbing and gripping the bed sheets. Clarke couldn’t help but admire her strength as she ordered Maya to find Roan, and Echo to bring sterilizer to clean and asses the wound. 

There wasn’t much she could do then except wait, so Clarke brings her hand to smooth down the woman’s hair, soaked now in sweat. “Hey, you’re safe. You’re in good hands, Dr. Roan is going to take good care of you.” 

When the woman doesn’t respond Clarke continues, antsy on her feet, she wants to help her, but she knows she’s already done too much without a doctor’s permission. The only thing she can do now is to try to distract her from the pain.

“Hey, what’s your name?” 

The young woman let out a few short breaths before turning her head to look at Clarke, “Raven. Raven Reyes.” 

Clarke nodded, “I’m going to help you Raven, okay? You’re doing great.” 

“All I’ve done so far is not die.” She huffed out between breaths. 

Clarke smirked, “Well keep doing that.” 

Roan rushes in with Echo behind him rolling a cart and then grabbing the tools as he calls from them. He seems shocked at the scene, but recovers quickly and takes to the task ignoring as Clarke stands next to the bed, holding onto Raven’s hand that she hadn’t noticed she’d grabbed onto. 

When Raven is knocked out on anesthetic, and Roan is scheduling an operating room for the amputation Clarke makes her way back to the waiting room to see the men who’d rushed Raven in. 

A thin, lean man stumbles over to her as soon as she rounds the corner; a hat wrung in his hands, biting at his top lip, “God tell me she’s okay?” 

Clarke nods and watches the relief wash over his face and then the other two as the young man reaches out to grab Clarke in a quick hug. 

She’s caught off guard, but she takes a moment to appreciate the gratitude. This joy, relief, that’s why she works so hard in school. But it isn’t all happy news so she only takes that moment before reaching out her hand to the other two men, “I’m Clarke, a medical intern here.” 

The blonde man speaks first, shaking her hand, “Wick. And that’s Jasper, and Monty. So she’s going to be okay?” 

Clarke gives him a sad smile, she can see the red circles around his eyes, he’s the one who had been crying, and it seems he hasn’t stopped since, “Ms. Reyes is going to survive her injuries, yes.”

“But?” The man, introduced as Monty, interjects. 

“But,” Clarke nods solemnly, “But we are going to have to amputate. Which comes with its own risks and challenges.”

“Oh god,” Wick brings his head into his hands. 

“We’ll be transferring her over to the hospital for the procedure, so feel free to wait here and I can bring you the details of her move once its all signed off on.” Clarke waits in silence for a moment while they all appear to be processing the information, and resigns to simply nodding again, giving Wick a squeeze on the shoulder and heading back to check on Raven. 

Roan is back in his office when Clarke asks for the details of the surgery. He hands her the file before calling her back into the office when she quickly rushes out, a thank you running off her lips. 

“Clarke, wait.” 

She peaks her head back into the office, the momentum of her skirt slighting throwing off her balance, “Yes doctor?” 

“Good work today,” Roan says, not looking up at her while filling out paperwork at his desk, but she knows he means well. Roan isn’t one for compliments but is a great doctor and a good mentor, really the only one she’s had. 

“Thank you sir,” She doesn’t smile, she knows it would only bring about mocking from Roan, so she gives him a curt nod and goes to take her leave again. 

“Clarke,” He calls out again, exasperated. 

This time she steps into his office, “Mmhm?” 

“I called in to the hospital,” He looks up from his desk, “I told them I want you to sit in on the surgery.” 

Clarke’s heart nearly beat out of her chest, “Sir, are you sure?” 

She watches his smirk come and go from his face, she’s sure if she had blinked she would have missed it completely. “Yes I’m sure. I don’t just say things I don’t mean. Now go before I change my mind.” 

Clarke lingers in the doorway for a moment, debating whether to say thank you a million times over. Instead she takes her leave without another word. She’s sure Roan would appreciate it over the former anyway. 

She’s off the clock when she takes a seat in the gallery of the surgery room. A note pad in her lap as she watches the procedure. It takes all of half an hour, but she ponders over just how much that thirty minutes has altered Raven Reyes’ life. Clarke knows she has friends waiting for her in her room. She knows the hospital has great resources, counseling, and physical therapy. She knows, from that brief time she’d spoken with Raven, that she is strong, emotionally and physically. But even then, Clarke notes her room number down anyway, making sure she comes back to check up on her when she’s back from her short vacation. 

As she leaves the hospital, some doctors giving Clarke a nod of recognition, and a couple of nurses applauding her quick thinking, she rushes out to catch the bus to Bellamy’s. She could’ve gone home to share the exciting news with her father, or rub it in her mother’s face just how rewarding her career path could be, but instead she heads to the one place she feels like actually being. She doesn’t want to waste this happiness suffocating in that big, fancy house. The Blake’s may have less in the eyes of her family and their friends. Less material wealth, less power, less prestige. But lacking in such things didn’t make the Blake’s less in any regard, if anything they rose above all the stupid games everyone else in her life played.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know anything about medicine folks, if it's not accurate, well I'm sorry but I did the best google search I could to uncover the truth. Turns out 30 minutes on wikipedia will not make a doctor of me yet! Any other questions or concerns, let me know! Thanks for the read, hope you enjoy!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times ensue, so beware!

"Is Octavia out?"

Bellamy nods over his book, "Lincoln's taken her to see the Christmas trees before they're taken down next week."

Clarke slips off her jacket, admiring how his focus never leaves the page, he is always so determined in everything he does. Stubborn as all hell, but his loyalty never falters. "So we're alone then?" 

"It's a Christmas miracle," He jokes. And he's not entirely off base, they haven't had a spare moment without Octavia for weeks. And as private as their relationship, their arrangement she reminds herself, had been Octavia is now a new part of that. Clarke is grateful of course, the young woman has helped her take care of Bellamy, she's sharp and witty and Clarke feels like she's been welcomed into their little family. But with that comes her own doubt, does Bellamy even want her this way? Early in the morning when she's bugging him to get up and eat, or late in the evening when she's tired and disheveled? Just sitting across from him reading or playing cards with Octavia, or examining his ribs and the stitches on his skin, with a cold calculation that lacks the passion of all their previous touches? 

She wondered if the domestication of that passion would lend her to slip into comfort, or out of the throngs of her so called love? Clarke didn't feel that emptiness when she wasn't near him, like she'd read in all those romance novels her mom bought her as a girl. Instead she felt whole, she felt complete in her own right, and yet enhanced with him beside her. Like as long he flashed her one of those rare smiles she could accomplish anything. 

Clarke felt, despite the odds, despite her own doubt, she could convince her parents of her goals - she could be with Bellamy as they are now, and Cage Wallace would one day become a long forgotten nightmare. She felt this when he was near, grabbing her hand, when arguing about any trivial thing that rolled off their tongues, or when whispering myths into the night as she rested her head in his shoulder. She longed for that certainty when she was at home, alone and unsure. 

Clarke was so used to not feeling anything, she was set in the complacency of her life. And with him, she felt more alive then ever before. It was as if Bellamy had lit a fire in her that made things worth fighting for. 

It had taken her nearly half a year to learn that it wasn't the policies she'd read in the newspaper, or the differing interpretations of Brontë's work that had her so impassioned, so fervent when she spoke to him. It was the person itself - Bellamy told her she was wrong, Bellamy yelled back; he gave her back that determination to be excited about her passions she had thought she’d given up on. And soon their long arguments turned to long talks. And without thought they slipped into this, this thing, which she knows now she could never let go of. 

They always say you know – you know when it’s right.

Clarke isn't quite sure what it is she knows yet, as she stands in his kitchen fixing them both cups of tea. But it's there in the comfortable silence. 

When she settles back in beside him, she asks something that's been itching at the back of her mind all day. 

"Raven Reyes," Clarke watches Bellamy look up, "do you know her? Is she from around here?" 

"Raven, yeah, she's been here longer than O and I." Bellamy stiffens as Clarke breaks away from his eye contact, fidgeting with the mug in her hand. 

"Clarke?" He sets his down, "Is she okay?" 

"She's perfectly fine," Clarke stammers out, "well she's, she'll pull through." 

"What happened?" Bellamy stands up, mumbling to himself, "Why wouldn't they tell me?" 

"There were three boys there. Wick, Monty, and-"

"- Jasper." Bellamy ends for her. 

Clarke pushes back her resentment, the one begging why he hadn't mentioned these people before. The answer was something she was sure she didn't want to know, not now at least. Not when everything seemed to be going so well. 

Clarke nodded instead, “I shouldn’t have said anything,” 

“Clarke,” Bellamy’s tone was questioning, she sensed a bit of anger as well.

“It’s not my place to say Bellamy!” Clarke understood, but lacked patience more often than not. It was something her mother always told her to think about when she got passionate, but the other note to Bellamy lighting this fire in her, was that he got the downside to. He often saw her at her worst, and she at his. 

“You can’t just mention that one of my oldest friends life is in danger and not tell me what’s going on!” Bellamy is standing over her now, and she stands up to meet him eye level. 

She’s angry now, suddenly. Because of his anger at her, because he’s never mentioned these friends to her before; because he’s standing and pacing and exerting himself more than he should while he’s recovering. Because there’s nothing she can do to help Raven Reyes, and she feels foolish for having mentioned it simply to brag. 

She’s angry with herself more so it seems, but she yells back at him anyway, “I’ve told you now! Besides if they really wanted you to know they would’ve told you themselves!” 

She regrets it the moment it leaves her mouth, but its tool late now; the words have hit him like a slap in the face. 

He’s backing away from her, retreating back into the kitchen. She can almost see that wall build up around him, the one that took so long for her to tear down. 

He doesn’t say anything and Clarke doesn’t have the sense to apologize, “I just mean that I don’t have her permission to share her state with you. She’ll be fine, isn’t that enough?” 

“How could it be!” Bellamy yells, and stops fidgeting with whatever it is he had in his hands to keep himself busy, “I should’ve been there.” 

“How could you’ve possibly known?” Clarke yells back, but she can see it now. Why he was so suddenly angry with her. In the way he slumps down into a kitchen chair, the way he runs his hand over his freckled face. He feels responsible for some reason. 

She kneels in front of him, slowly, softly placing a hand on his shoulder as if she could startle him and he’d scurry away. 

“Bellamy,” She whispers now, their superficial anger dissipating as quickly as it came on, “What’s going on?” 

He lets out a sigh, “Before I worked at the University I worked at Lincoln’s garage.” 

Clarke sits up on the other kitchen chair as he continues, “I’d been working there since I was a boy, since before it became Lincoln’s. Raven started about 5 years after I did; she was smart, smarter than all of us combined. She was only 15 then but she worked for her place and now she basically runs that shop.”

Clarke chuckles to herself, imagining Octavia’s steady, Lincoln, who’s so tall and muscular letting Raven Reyes boss him around. Clarke’s met her, even only for that brief moment, and she’d believe it. 

“Before I left I hired Jasper and Monty. They’re smart kids. Not very strong, but you don’t have to be to work the equipment and fix the cars. I’m the one that trained them. I should’ve done better. Maybe I shouldn’t have left them so suddenly. The money from the University was just too good to turn down.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke reaches out and grabs his hand, freeing it from its position on his cheek. “You can’t possibly think that any of this is your fault.” 

Bellamy looks up at her, surprise and guilt sharing expression on his face. “But if I had stayed,” 

“You wouldn’t have met me,” Clarke runs her free hand up his arm. “I know you feel like this is your fault. It’s not okay?”

He nods reluctantly. 

“Look at me,” Clarke commands, and she squeezes his hand until he does. “There was a terrible accident, yes. But Raven is going to be okay. She’s a fighter I can tell. You have no need to feel guilty for the things that you have no control. You can only promise yourself to do what you think is best. You did that, so you mustn’t hold this over yourself, okay?” 

“Do you think Raven will be able to forgive me?” He asks, shy, like a little boy hiding behind his mother’s skirts. 

Clarke moves over to him, and leans down to plant soft kisses to his cheeks, “There’s nothing to forgive.”

He leans into her touch, “You’re leaving tomorrow?” 

She stops, pulls back to look at his face, “For only a week,” 

“You’ll be gone for New Years Eve then?” He whispers. Clarke’s brows furrow. She’s already told him all this, but she nods anyway.

“So you’re going to have to settle for that midnight kiss a bit early,” Her laugh is caught in her throat as his lips meet hers. Nothing more as he freezes, eyes closed and still as Bellamy holds his face to hers as if he’s asking permission. 

She leans down, to press further into his hesitant touch, her hands cupping his face. She plays with the soft curls at the nape of his neck as she lays soft kisses to his mouth, barely gracing his lips long enough for him to respond. Clarke takes the opportunity to just feel him breath in her arms as she steals measured moments to break away from his lips, and run her nose across his, or simply feel their breath meet; feel his shaky breath wash over her lips. 

There is a moment, as she stills above him, their bodies pressed so tightly together, their lips barely touching. She counts each time he inhales, sharp, then exhales, drawn out. She can feel the energy change as she opens her eyes to find his closed. 

Her breath hitches in her chest as she feels his hands slowly drag their way up either side of her legs. Bellamy simultaneously moves his lips across the corner of her mouth, down her cheek, working at a patch of skin below her ear. His tongue working slowly, lapping at her skin just as his hands reach her girdle. He cups her ass, and leaning into Bellamy, Clarke captures his mouth with hers again, this time with a fire burning in her core. 

Bellamy lifts her skirt to her waist, and guides Clarke to straddle him on the chair. Clarke follows his lead, slowly falling into him, rushing her hands over his chest, into his hair as his hands explore her exposed skin in a frenzy of sudden movement.

He tugs at her hair as a question to deepen their kiss and within moments their tongues intertwine. In many aspects of their relationship they argue, they clash and they ricochet apart from each other, but Clarke feels this intimacy between them as a shared pursuit. As if, in there most innate form, they’re drawn to each other. 

Clarke captures his bottom lip in hers and gives it a pull as she rocks against him for the first time. In response she can feel a low moan rumble through his chest as Bellamy plunges forward recapturing her mouth in his and lifting them up off the chair in one swoop. 

Her legs instantly wrap around his waist as Bellamy returns her taunt, pulling and biting at her lips. She can feel his erection hot against her core, or perhaps her own arousal begging for more friction. 

“Bellamy, please,” She whispers as he stumbles with her in his arms. He swiftly drops them on the couch, more sideways then she’s sure he had intended, but it leaves her to straddle him. Clarke smiles to herself as he falls back and looks up at her as she undoes the top three buttons of her daytime dress. As she releases the tight belt around her waist she watches him bring his own shirt above his head and throw it to the ground. 

She hasn’t seen his scars like this; the one on his side is long and pink, still healing but never to go away completely. She finds herself leaning down over his body and pressing her lips to it. He stiffens at her touch. 

She slowly stands, whispering, “Does it hurt?” 

Bellamy’s eyes follow as she removes her dress completely, intently watching as her hands work on the clips on her stockings; he swallows, “No.” 

She rids herself of her griddle, tossing it aside to join his shirt and her dress on the floor. 

“Good.”

Clarke kneels down as Bellamy repositions himself to lie across the couch. She reaches for the buttons on his pants and helps him shed those too, both of them in nothing but their underwear, staring at each other in a moment of intimacy Clarke is certain they’d never shared before. Every other time had seemed so rushed, so stolen in fear, or passion. But with the safety of his apartment, with Octavia out all evening, and no one who could barge in, they take a long moment to just look. 

She starts at the edge of his boxers, tracing the waistband with her lips and follows the trail of hair there up to his stomach. She uses a free hand to softly caress his erection slipping her hand beneath the material; his stomach convulsing as she drags her lips across his warm skin, and as her grip tightens Clarke can hear Bellamy whisper her name. She sneaks a look at him before she finds her way up to his neck. 

Bellamy becomes impatient, moving his head to press his lips against hers, grabbing her waist and nearly dragging her on top of him. This time there is so little material between them Clarke gasps at the sensation of his erection so hard against her thigh.  
He cups at her breasts, sits up suddenly to kiss her nipples through the thin material. Clarke moans into the quiet room, nothing to stop her from calling his name and grinding down onto him. Bellamy’s arm holds her from behind while his free hand makes its way between them, slipping past her underwear to find where she most wants him. 

She forces her moan into his mouth this time, as she circles her clit slowly, agonizingly slow. Clarke continues to push against him, begging him to go faster, nipping at his lips, pulling at his hair until he slips a finger inside her. 

She sees stars as he thrusts into her, adding another finger while she grinds down on his hand. She falls back onto the other side of the couch, flipping their position so Clarke is lying down, and Bellamy falls between her thighs. And with one hand resting beside her head, the other is plunging in and out of her center, causing Clarke to quiver beneath him. His thumb is tracing circles around her sensitive clit while his two fingers find that spot inside her that has Clarke clawing into his bare back, biting her lip until she comes with is name falling from her lips. 

She’s barely recovered before she’s dragging down his boxers, releasing his erection, “I need you,” 

And he needs no more convincing before she’s leaning back, guiding him into her and feeling him stretch her out inch by inch. He’s slow at first, as he always is, but she’s already slick from her first orgasm and begs him to go deeper. Bellamy makes word on his promise, kissing her through their moans and cries. Clarke wraps her legs around his waist, opening herself up to him as her arms wrap over the armrest of the couch, using it as something to dig her nails into, as he slams into her, steady and fast. In a mix of moans and kisses they come undone together, Bellamy first but Clarke not long after as they ride out their pleasure. 

He falls onto her, and the weight would otherwise have been too much for her light frame, but she takes a moment as their breathing settles to let her hands come back to fall on his bare back, Bellamy’s head resting against her bare breasts. 

His voice is quiet, and he seems to be falling asleep as she traces patterns onto his skin, but after what feels like forever, his breaths tickles her chest as he whispers, 

“Happy New Year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my first ever full blown sex scene (internally freaking out cause mum, if you're somehow reading this, sorry). Please let me know your thoughts and suggestions!!!


	6. Chapter 6

“Happy New Year.” Cage clinks his champagne glass against Clarke’s as she stares absentmindedly out of a window of Senator Kane’s ski lodge. The crisp ring pulls her back into the room. The loud classical band, the chatter of dozens of people she doesn’t know, and worst of all Cage Wallace smirking down at her, as he comes up beside her, both their backs toward the party.

She immediately goes back to staring out of the grand bay window, watching as the snow dances across the sky, reflecting off the lights from the lobby, “Midnight already?”

“Not quite yet. Do you wish it were?” Cage asks slickly, “Can hardly wait for an excuse to kiss me? Ms. Griffin you sure are bold,”

“I wouldn’t presume to put wor-“

“You do know how to take a joke don’t you Griffin?”

He says it in the same mocking tone as he used with her in their labs. When all the other men had been watching, laughing along with him until she felt the tears sting the back of her eyes, and her cheeks flare red.

Clarke can’t bring herself to pretend anymore, so rather she simply walks away. He catches up with her though, pushing his way past people so he stands shoulder to shoulder with her.

“What is it? Truly Cage what do you want?” Clarke stops, frozen in the excitement of the lobby. Out of the corner of her eye she sees her mother and Virginia Wallace eyeing the pair expectantly.

The count down has begun around them and all she can bring herself to think is how much she wishes Bellamy were here.

“What do I want?” Cage looks down at her, his shit-eating grin replaced with a more serious glare that puts a chill in her bones, “I want to ensure my father the legacy he deserves. I want his name on your father’s research. I want to please my mother and finally settle into domestication. I want access to my inheritance to fund my research projects – and I think that you’d help me achieve all of that, quite simply with one word.”

_Ten, nine, eight,_

“What are you saying?”

_Seven, Six, Five,_

“Griffin, I know this isn’t quite a fairytale,”

_Four, Three, Two,_

“Yet, I am extending my hand in marriage,”

_One._

Cage closes the small space between them, and in the mass hysteria around them, forces his lips with hers. He’s grabbing at Clarke’s face, holding it in his hands as he leans down. It feels like it lasts forever, like his whole weight has been thrown at her. It’s messy, its wet, it’s nothing like Bellamy.

Clarke's arms struggle, trapped against his chest. No one seems to notice the force she tries to use to get away, everyone is too caught up in the excitement, in saying their happy new years, or, those who overheard the rushed proposal, a congratulations.

She hasn’t said yes. She hasn’t said anything before her mother rushes over, no doubt having witnessed it all by Virginia’s side. She wonders if they had known this was going to happen.

She’s frozen in shock, the gravity of her situation taking its toll.

Abby is calling for Jake and Dante to join them, to celebrate. They all pass around champagne to cheers to good health, to their union, to their family.

She hasn’t said yes.

She hasn’t said no either, and that somehow feels worse.

Everyone is staring at her now. Senator Kane coming over to offer his congratulations. Cage moves to stand by her side, taking her hand in his, and yet the words don’t come.

Inside her head a voice screams no. It screams that she has too many dreams to give up now. She has plans; she has goals that don’t revolve around finding a suitable husband and marrying for status and wealth. This isn’t what she wants - this isn’t who she wants.

 She wants to scream this out to everyone, everyone who is looking at her like she should be the happiest girl in the world. Everyone who refuses to see as the tears roll freely onto her cheeks.

Instead she remembers the first time she met Bellamy. He was the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. He was also the most stubborn.

 

Clarke had arrived at the laboratory exactly 5 minutes before class was scheduled to begin, as she had done with every class she had that day. It was her first day of the semester and in all the other classes the professor was there to answer preliminary questions, or to set up for their experiment or lecture. Instead she found an empty room, lights out, and not another person in sight. Something in the program must have changed, so she looked around and found a note on the front desk instructing the class to meet in another building across campus. Clarke figured it was an innocent enough mistake, and seeing as she had five extra minutes, ran across campus to the proper location. Except that there she found another note. And when she reached the next classroom the door was locked. She wasn’t stupid, it was quite obviously a prank at her expense, but if the perpetrator was behind that door she was determined to have his head.

The light was on so she pounded on the door until it swung open. She hadn’t expected someone donning a grey jumpsuit and holding a broom to be so incredibly handsome - he caught her off guard. His freckles, his dark eyes, and the way his lips curled up in a quick smile while he took her in. Flushed, sweaty and disgruntled having run across campus numerous times.

“If you’re looking for the phys-ed department, I’m afraid you’re in the wrong building.” He quipped.

“Funny,” She shot back, “seems like I’m always in the wrong building. Did they tell you to say that?”

“Who?” He looked genuinely confused.

“I don’t know,” She ran her hands through her curls, now loose from its once perfect bun. Gesturing widely, “you know, them! Them. The guys who’ve told you to direct me to another room across campus so that I can get another note to misdirect me.”

He leaned his broom against the wall, taking a seat on the edge of a desk, either genuinely interested or simply amused by her erratic behavior. “Some one’s actually done this to you?”

She gave him a side eye, a look that made him smile again, “Done, no. Currently doing, yes.”

“Well is it important?

“It’s my first day.”

“Shit,” He said before flashing her a worried look, he could probably get fired if she reported such language. “I mean, uh, sorry.”

Clarke let out a breath, “Don’t be. It’s exactly how I feel.”

“I’m sure it’s just meant to be a joke,” He said, standing back up to retrieve his broom.

“Well you would wouldn’t you.” Clarke let slip. He seemed immediately put on edge, and suddenly she noticed just how tall he was, how broad his shoulders were. His stature was intimidating, but she wouldn’t let him know that if it came to it.

“Pardon me miss Ivy League, but why would you assume anything about me?” He stood a bit straighter than he had moments previously. She stood her ground stubbornly, and despite being so incredibly late to her first cell biology class already. This man had captured her attention, her class far from her mind as she directed her frustration at him.

“Excuse me?” Clarke scoffed. He was quick to anger and it soured that curve in his lip. “I don’t think you have any right taking that tone with me.”

“Why? Why do I have to show any of you any respect? Cause your daddy’s paying for you to take some classes and meet an equally rich husband that can fund your whims just like he does.” The man was upset, but Clarke could tell it wasn’t simply directed at her. He was angry about the notion itself, and she wanted him to know just how angry she was back.

“Now who’s the one pretending he knows anything about me! I’m sorry you’re stuck here moping up laboratories, but I don’t need to take this kind of assault from you, not when I already get it out there!”

The man laughed, it wasn’t a pretty laugh either, it sounded guttural and mocking, “I don’t need to know you. You think you’ve got it rough, you think anyone out in the real world gives a damn about you. I’m just giving you a glimpse into the truth about this life.”

The man moved closer as he yelled, and yet it didn’t feel threatening. In fact Clarke took a step toward him until she craned her neck up to keep eye contact, until they were only a few steps apart.

Clarke wasn’t yelling anymore, “Oh yeah, and what’s that? That strange men are going to pretend they know me just because I go to a particular university? That men will continue to look down on me no matter what it is I do? That despite how hard I worked to get into this program, so I can finally use this useless fucking money my family has, that men like you,” She boldly poked him in the chest, “men like them, will continue to say and do whatever it is they like to try and stop me? Well guess what, sir, I’m not going to take it anymore.”

The man is silent, and Clarke takes a few steps back to retrieve the books she’d put down on the desk.

“Fuck you,” It was almost like a whisper as she shook her head before turning on her heel and rushing out of the room.

She was half way down the hallway, willing herself not to completely break down when she heard him rush after her, “Hey, Princess, wait,”

Clarke scoffed at the nickname, but slowed so he could catch up and walk in step with her.

She dared a glance at him before stopping to turn, craning her neck again to look up at him, “What is it?”

Her tone wasn’t as harsh as he must have been expecting and his brow relaxed instantly as she looked up at him. To her own surprise all that anger she had felt toward him simply melted away as he brought one of her books between them. She looked down at it before grabbing it from him and muttering a thank you.

 “Oedipus?” His eyebrow quirked up, saying the title of the book.

 “Greek Myths 101.” She retaliated.

 He nodded, another small grin forming on his face. It seemed as though that may be a constant from this stranger - small glimpses at his face lit up, that gleam shinning in his eyes she hadn’t noticed before.

 “Bellamy,”

 She looked into those brown eyes that moments ago had felt like daggers, piercing her skin, burning her with their contempt. This time they were soft. Clarke thought for a moment how it could be that the way some one’s glare feels could mean so much.

Bellamy’s seemed to warm her skin, cause her to break her eyes contact and smile at the ground before looking back up. She reached out her hand,

“Clarke.”

 

_"Clarke?”_

Abby pulls her focus, stepping in from of her and wiping a tear from her cheek quickly. It wasn’t meant to be a comfort, rather a recovery for the supposed image of a happy family milestone. “Clarke, I know this is tough,” And for a moment it seems as though she is genuinely concerned, “But thank you for making the right decision. Just look how pleased your father is.”

 Clarke glanced over at Jake, his hand clasped around Dante, a smile widespread across his face, surely already discussing space at the University for his project. A profound guilt spread through her, pulling her heart heavy, tightening her guts. She was going to be sick.

 Clarke pulls her hand away from Cage’s grasp and brings it to cover her mouth, shaking her head, “I can’t mother, I can’t.”

 Abby wraps her into a hug, maybe to still her shaking body, maybe to hide it from those around them, “You can Clarke, you’re strong. You’re so strong; you can do this for your family, you can do this.”

 She’s shaking her head; she’s pulling away, excusing herself to go to the washroom where she breaks into a sob. Her mother’s words were meant to be a comfort, a compliment. Why then do they feel like chains, dragging her down a path she knows is wrong. Her mother was dealt the same cards, and her mother’s mother before that. So many women in this city, in this world trapped in these exact same shoes. Who was she to dream any bigger? Who was she to think she could have all that she did and still get to be happy? Perhaps she was just as guilty of the selfishness she accused her mother and father of.

 Perhaps this was the burden she had to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading! The comments and likes have been so inspiring and really helped me with my confidence! I will probably be taking a bit longer with the next couple of chapters just because I'm going to be a bit busy these next few weeks and I haven't had a lot of free time to write. Hopefully you'll stick with me! I have a lot more planned for these guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, and I'll post more chapters if people seem to like it!
> 
> It's only been edited by me, so if there's any mistakes don't mind letting me know! Thanks


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